Noisybones

No matter the price, not everyone can be a musician.

She was a child, not even twelve. I
kept quiet and smiled. She'd tell me all the story, no need for
encouragement. So they told me she would.

“Are you here to listen to the story?
My doctors say talking about it helps. They say I should talk about
it whenever I can.”

I nodded. She understood and went on.

“They say it was just a bad dream. A
very bad dream. That I was born this way and I choose to
ignore or forget it. But that makes no sense. I remember having
bones, and walking and moving around. If I was born like this I
wouldn't remember that. They took my bones, the big ones and the long
ones. And some small ones. Or well, he did. There was a man.
He had dirty glasses and black hair. He smelled bad, like smoke and
ash. He came six times. Every time, he took a bone or two. I don't
remember anything apart from his glasses and pain. A lot of pain. The
first few times I screamed and tried to get away. He kept saying
something in another language, I think. 'eenga penga' or something
like that. He kept saying it every time I was screaming or crying.
'eenga penga fur anestesi' too. He kept repeating that, until I
couldn't forget it.”

“I don't remember how much time I was
on the table. I just remember crying and staring at the same ceiling
fan go round and round all the time. It never stopped. I was there
for days. Or weeks, or months. And pain. The pain wouldn't stop at
all. Every time I moved, I felt pain. By the third time the man came,
I was too tired to cry or scream. And it always hurt too much to
sleep. The man with the dirty glasses came and stood next to the
table where I was. I think he said 'iaag aer lessen', or something
similar. Or...or maybe he said that every time. I forget. He gripped
my ankle and I could feel something sliding across my ankle, from the
heel to the bend. Immediately after, it would burn and I'd feel blood
pouring out. Then he began cutting sideways, towards my knee. I felt
my skin and flesh splitting apart, bit by bit. He stopped above the
knee and began to shove his fingers into the slit. He groped until he
found the bone and began to pull at both ends, until it came out. It
was a long bone, red with blood. It was still being held by thin red
streaks from inside the leg. He wrenched it hard and the red streaks
broke completely. It hurt. It hurt so much. I don't remember anything
after that, it all went black. The next time I remember waking up, he
came to take my left arm.”

She stopped for a while. I wasn't sure
if she was going to break down, but she went on.

“The fifth time it hurt the worst. He
cut me from belly button to neck and pulled my skin apart. I still
cried and screamed, but he didn't stop at all. He took a small round
buzzing thing with a round blade on one end and stuck into my chest.
He was cutting my ribs. My whole chest buzzed as he sawed away. Every
few seconds he took away some more bone. I lost count how many bits
he took out. At the end he pulled out a big thing, that looked like a
long, thin spider or crab, red and dripping with blood. I suppose he
stitched me out every time he finished, or else I would have died.
The next I remember I was in a chair, looking down at a room with
tables covered with shiny instruments all over. The man with the
dirty glasses stood in the middle of the room, looking at me and
waving. Then he pointed at a table with many white and red things on
it. Some looked like the bones I saw him pull out of me. The big red
crab-looking thing was there too. There were five, all looking the
same. Then he started grinding some of them and sticking them
together with nails and white paste, like one of those 3D puzzles.
Around me were other people. They looked like other children. We were
all watching. Watching the man shape all those bits and pieces of
bone into what looked to be like a white violin.

Again she stopped. This time she looked
straight at me.

“People usually tell me to stop about
now.”

I had no problem with it, I answered.
She stared at me with dead eyes for a bit, then shrugged and went on.

“Next thing I remember, I was sitting
in a hall. A concert place. There were other kids around me, sat as I
was. There was another kid on the stage, apart from all of us. He had
a white violin and was holding it awkwardly. One of his arms was
shorter than the other, and his head seemed crooked to one side.
He...he looked to be in pain...or confused. His mouth was halfway
open and his jaw was shaking. He...there was something wrong with
him, I'm sure. He tried to play but his fingers just didn't move
right or how he wanted them to move. The violin just screeched and
screeched. Someone around me winced a bit. It wasn't music. He
dropped the violin and started crying and screaming. But...it was so
frightening. It sounded sad. But the screams were like pain. He
rocked back and forth and almost fell out of his chair. The man with
the dirty glasses ran up the stage and caught him and carried him off
the stage. Then he came back and looked angry. Very angry. He picked
up the violin and stared at it. Then he started yelling and threw it
at us. It hit the kid next to me and shattered. I remember her neck
going limp and blood flowing from her face down to the chair. After
that everything went black again. I don't remember anything after.
Just that I woke up here, with doctors around me.”

She stopped and her eyes fell to the
floor. Someone came in and tapped my shoulder. I didn't move at
first. I just looked. At her. At the boneless limbs, dangling
uselessly from her torso. At the waste of bones. The person behind me
tapped my shoulder again. I got up and left. It's a good thing I
didn't wear my glasses that day. I always forget to clean them.